


Bubblegum Cry

by Ayulsa (execharmonious)



Category: Bubblegum Crisis
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/F, Female Alpha, Female Omega, Feral Behavior, Light Dom/sub, Nanotechnology, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pheromones, Slurs, Werewolf Senses, Werewolf Turning, just lots of consent issues and dominance and wolfy behavior, not an established social system, not futa, not pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7336261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/execharmonious/pseuds/Ayulsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Possessed of inhuman gifts as a result of her father's research, enigmatic billionaire Sylia Stingray seeks to put them to good, if partly selfish, use: creating a small team of mercenaries to halt the ascension of corrupt megacorp Genom. Sound familiar? Not quite...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once We Were Monsters

The woman was not at all the usual clientele for a dive like this. The pin-sharp creases pressed into her pantsuit, the generous string of pearls at her throat, contrasted sharply with the grungy, unkempt appearance of the rest of the crowd, cyber implants glittering from hollowed-out sockets, prosthetics kitbashed from repurposed Boomer limbs ending abruptly in scarred stumps. The people who came to Hot Legs were mostly Quake diaspora, seeking to forget homelessness and mortality in a bottle of cheap ale.

This woman was from the other side of the tracks. She had money to throw around, and she clearly didn't know or care to not signal that. She was surprised someone hadn't ripped her throat out for those pearls yet.

As she came closer, and other patrons slowly shuffled away from her, Priss understood why. The woman radiated a quiet yet unshrinking confidence, and something else besides-- like pheromones or a hypnotic suggestion, something that reached Priss on a primal level and prickled the hair on the back of her neck. She'd heard of pheromone implants supposedly meant to enhance seduction or convey dominance, but no one had those any more: modding companies had gone bankrupt en masse after the Boomer Syndrome panic, and now the only people wearing mods were amateur bodyhackers who didn't plan on living past thirty anyway. If she'd kept her mods when she clearly had the cash to get them taken out, she was an anomaly.

But Priss already knew that. Only a serious crazy-- oh, sorry, they called the rich ones _eccentrics_ , but crazy was crazy-- would show up in a place like this dressed like she was. Having nothing better to do than stay here and people-watch as she drank herself into numbness, she studied her, trying to suss her game, but her face was inscrutable, her movements controlled. She ordered a bourbon and sipped it slowly, occasionally glancing at the other patrons, seeming unmoved by the garish tableau of flesh and metal on display.

Ahh. Now she had her. This one wasn't here just to gawp; an ordinary thrill-seeker would be flipping out by now, either from voyeuristic excitement or in the realization that they were in too deep. No, the woman's cold demeanor and those too-sharp eyes meant only one thing: a Genom plant.

Priss gave a _tch_ under her breath. Were they even trying? This woman stood out like a harelip on a hooker, albeit a lot better looking. Then again, the intimidation factor meant no one would question her. Her implants were probably Genom too, some experimental bullshit they'd cooked up in exchange for her services and cancer at thirty. Fucking Genom whores.

She shook a cigarette from her back and lit it, drawing deep in an attempt to quash a rush of rage. The fucking nerve, sending in an obvious mole dolled up to the nines as if to scream out, we're here, we've got the power and there's nothing you can do about it. Just sit there and let the fox strut around the henhouse like a fucking prize rooster, scoping out who to pick off next.

Just like they did to _him._

Those eyes turned on her, and she shot up from her seat, coals glowing red between her fingertips. She'd seen enough.

"Here for the freakshow, huh?" she slurred, her strides eating up the distance between them. "Well, you picked the wrong _freak_." She spat that last word, stepping up into the woman's personal space, abruptly aware of how tall she was; with the heels she was scraping six feet. She didn't blink or move as Priss closed in, examining her with that same implacable stare.

Fucking bitch was probably halfway to being a Boomer already.

"I wasn't aware my looking at you constituted 'picking' anything," she said, her words low and soft and rolling off her tongue. _Fuck,_ she was attractive, even if she was their whore. If they'd sent her in specifically after Priss, they'd done a damn good recon job. She was impressed, and a little disturbed.

She scowled, throwing down her cigarette. "How long have you bastards been watching me?"

The woman raised an eyebrow, immaculately groomed. "Hm? Oh, no-- I'm not with Genom, if that's what you're thinking."

"Like hell you're not." She waved a hand, taking in her clothing. "You don't show up to a place like _this_ looking like _that_ unless you're trying to fuck with our heads. Don't you have anything less _decent_ , you little whore?"

If she was taken aback, she showed it only ever so slightly, and it warred with amusement in her eyes. "Would you like me to strip? I'd prefer not to in public, if it's all the same to you."

"I'd _like_ you to tell me what you're doing here."

The woman smiled a faint apology. "All right. I confess-- it was you I came to see tonight, Priscilla Asagiri." Priss flinched at the use of her name. "But I promise, I'm no friend of Genom. Actually..." She glanced around them. "Shall we step outside?"

"For a fight, you mean?" said Priss, laughing coldly. "Sure. Just tell me how you'd like the body presented to your heirs. Gotta have something to look at while they fight over your inheritance." The corner of her mouth quirked up. "I hear ice sculptures are big with the jet set."

"I have no intention of fighting you." Her tone was mild. "I only wish to talk. I have a proposal I think you might appreciate."

"Sure, lady." Priss' fingers slipped silently to the waistband of her pants, finding the small shiv she had there. "Lead the way."

The other woman turned to leave, and Priss' inner voice laughed raucously. _The fucking idiot actually turned her back on me!_ She waited until they'd rounded a corner and the patrons had lost line of sight, then slid the knife from her waistband.

A firm grip caught her wrist. "I wouldn't."

 _Shit, she's keen!_ She hadn't expected that at all. Maybe it was the stupid pheromones getting to her, but for the first time in this encounter she was actually unnerved.

The woman's eyes met hers, dark and penetrating. She was sure the other woman could hear her heartbeat; the ferocity of it was painful. "Would you hear me out?"

"...All right." She dropped the knife, prompting the other woman to let go of her wrist, which she did. Priss walked over to a low wall and leaned against it, fishing out her pack of cigarettes. She could certainly use one right now. 

She offered the pack to the woman. "Smoke?"

Long, slender fingers reached out, the nails impossibly well kept. "Don't mind if I do. Thank you." She lit up. "So you're no fan of Genom, I take it."

Priss snorted in disgust and swept her arm over their surroundings: stores graffitied and permanently shuttered, the road so churned up it was practically dirt. "You're in the Rift, sister. Ain't nobody here they haven't fucked with in some capacity." She took a drag of her cigarette, then tapped ash onto the gravel. "We don't live here by choice."

Her eyes narrowed as she continued. "But you know that. You're not stupid. So let's cut right to it."

The woman nodded. "I have in mind an organization. Of the people, if you will. As you've doubtless discerned, I happen to be in a somewhat fortunate position in this city's hierarchy; a position that grants me significant power, of various kinds. I'd like to give some of that power to people who share my goals."

Goddamnit, she'd actually pronounced that semicolon. "Which are?"

"Keep Genom in check, through selective application of that power."

"So what would you be wanting me to do?"

The woman placed the toe of her boot over Priss' discarded knife, and, with a sharp stomp, flicked it up into her waiting hand. Priss tried not to appear impressed. "You can fight, yes? Actually, no--you respected my intelligence, and I'll respect yours. You know I've been watching you, and you know I know you're a competent street fighter. I'd like to give you the opportunity to use that talent for more than petty crime."

Priss sputtered out a laugh and a lungful of smoke. "What, after saving my poor orphan soul, are you? Give me a fucking break."

"No. I just know skill when I see it, and I'd rather not see yours wasted." She fingered the bracelets on her wrist conspicuously. "Of course, you'll be paid."

She mulled this information over. "You want a mercenary."

"If you would prefer, yes. I was going to say a grassroots militia."

"But you want me to fight for you. For pay."

"You are correct, yes." The tip of her cigarette glowed cherry-red in the darkness. "Would that be against your personal standards?"

Priss swallowed a laugh and tried not to choke. "Hardly." Actually, this deal was sounding sweeter by the moment. A legitimate excuse to break faces, plus probably more money than she'd seen at once in her life?

It was too sweet. Sugary, like she imagined the woman's candy-bright lipstick would taste. "What's the catch?"

"You leave your old life behind."

The statement was sudden and frank and not at all what she'd expected. She was fast learning she couldn't predict this woman's moves at all, and that unsettled her more than anything.

Her brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sorry. I can't tell you, not until I know you're with me. Some of what I have access to-- I can't let it fall into the wrong hands." Headlights streaked by, and her eyes shone like a cat's in the glow. A chill ran through Priss. "But I promise you power beyond measure, if you entrust your heart to me."

Okay, this was getting seriously creepy. She was supposed to sign off on some crazy deal not even knowing what she was getting into, with a woman who talked like a bad movie, smelt like a succubus and could disarm her without blinking. And the worst of it was, she was tempted.

She had to be honest: her life wasn't much to give up. Sure, she scraped by, and there was joy to be found in singing and riding. But she was only ever one missed gig away from being back on the streets, and she was tired of watching her back for old enemies. She hated to admit it, but she could use a benefactor. And she could definitely use power.

It was an absurd question, but it was the one that came out of her mouth. "Can I still ride my motorcycle?"

"I'll have you one built custom."

Before she could process what that might mean the woman was on her, oppressive wet heat, breathing bourbon and lust into a mouth open in surprise. She took Priss' lower lip into her mouth and suckled it roughly, grazing it with her teeth. Priss thought to shove her off but her body wouldn't respond, wouldn't believe this was real, then something sharp cut her lip and she cried out against the woman's mouth, shaking from the adrenaline spike. _She_ bit _me! She fucking bit me! The fuck?!_

She hadn't tasted like candy at all.

Her mouth was throbbing, heat drumming in her blood. Her head began to spin, nothing that would come from a simple bite, her thoughts feverish and slow. She felt goosebumps rise on her arms, a cold sweat washing over her and leaving a strange heavy numbness in its wake.

 _No,_ she thought, pushing back against the sudden wave of darkness that threatened to overwhelm her. _Gotta stay awake. If I go under, I'm dead. If I go under, I'm dead. If I--_

***

 _\--Dead,_ was her next conscious thought. _I should be dead._ Instead, she just had a splitting headache and a rather prodigious case of dry mouth. Oh, and she was oddly hot, and when she tried to move her limbs felt all wrong, stretched and squashed out of proportion.

She felt around, surroundings spinning, trying to at least figure out which way was up and if she could _stand_ up, if she wasn't already. It felt like she was yet wasn't. Her nails snagged on carpet, and she was wondering just when she'd wound up indoors when her hand came free and came to rest in front of her face, small and red and covered in short coarse fur.

All at once, she remembered--

\--cracking bones, the horrible splintering sound as her limbs contorted into impossible shapes, her jaw threatening to rip right through the skin of her face, and the numbness that pervaded it all. She would have rather had pain: pain she could scream at, pouring all of her concentration into fighting back, not like this blankness that left her fully capable of watching every twitch and shiver of the monster pushing up from under her skin, floating far above her flesh as she became more and more convinced that this couldn't be real. Yeah, that was it: that woman must have slipped her something when she'd kissed her, and now she was crouched on all fours in some stranger's condo, probably getting fucked with a strap-on while this sadist petted her hair and told her what a good dog she was.

Well, two could play that game. She whirled on the woman who was assuredly behind her, snarling and snapping at the air.

"Over here, Priscilla."

Her ears swiveled, tracking the sound-- wait, she could move her ears? She didn't know much about dogs-- and her head turned to follow them.

On the other side of the room stood a creature of legend. It was by far the biggest animal she'd ever seen, not that she'd seen many; even from across the room it seemed to tower, its shoulders wide, its limbs taut muscle. Its fur was a blinding, almost silvery white, and the part of her that wasn't nearly pissing herself at the nightmare this had turned into was halfway amused. Of course the woman who had everything would take the form of the perfect alpha bitch, like some ridiculous author avatar. Life was a game to people like that, and they made the rules. Of course she'd be the best she could be.

Then again, wasn't this her hallucination? In that case, was her brain the one that had come up with that image? _Aw hell, why am I even thinking about this? My head already hurts too damn much._

"So this is what gets you off, huh?" she growled. Part of her was amazed that she could speak, and another part was amazed at how much it felt like speaking with a dog's mouth, to the extent that she could even imagine that. _This is one out-there trip._ "Kidnapping girls off the street and making them play puppy?"

"I did tell you your life would change." If it had felt weird speaking as a dog, watching the wolf's mouth move in time with the woman's perfectly clipped syllables was even more uncanny.

"Yeah, well, I signed up to fight Genom, not play your sick little games. I want this to wear off, and fast, or I'll skin that fur coat off you personally."

"You will be fighting Genom," said the wolf-woman. "And this is how you'll do it. A nanomechanical transformation, based on the work my father pioneered-- that Genom stole, and turned into the mass-produced slaves you see today."

"Nanotech... what?" She looked down at herself, at her long reddish forelegs, then back up at the wolf. "Boomers?"

"Yes, Boomers, as you know them now. They were my father's creation-- or should I say that he developed the technology. It was made to augment people, to give plasticity to the human genome-- to route around damaged genes, heal ourselves more quickly, adapt to the evolving challenges of a modern world. The Boomers you know are tools of war and industry, but my father's plan was far grander... he wanted to uplift the human race."

"Wait, so I'm a Boomer now?" The truth settled into her limbs, cold and heavy. "This is how you plan to fight back? Turning people into Genom dogs? Stuffing their veins with dirty tech? Shit, you may as well just kill me now!"

She ran on four shaky paws to the window, a wall of floor-to-ceiling panes granting a panoramic view of the city. Dimly, against the backdrop of night, the reflection of a creature stared back at her: a reddish dog, or perhaps a wolf, scrawny and small in comparison to the great white behemoth.

"I'm a monster," she whispered, revulsion filling her at the sight of her own jaws moving.

The white wolf padded up beside her. "You're beautiful," she insisted gently.

Priss turned on her, her lips curled back in a snarl. "I'm a monster, and you're _dead!_ "

She lunged at the wolf, jaws angled for her throat. They closed on air, the wolf twisting out of her reach, but she pressed in, rearing up and slashing at the wolf's face with her claws, trying to throw her off-guard enough for a bite.

The wolf rolled low, striking her belly with both hind legs. Priss fell on top of her, and each spun to grab at the other's scruff, Priss' teeth finding purchase in the wolf's thick fur and sinking in until she reached flesh and flowing blood: bright Boomer yellow, not red, but it tasted so sweet.

The white wolf let out an awful sound, somewhere between a human cry and a whine, and Priss was so startled that she had no time to react to being struck across the face.

She was on her back now, blood in her eyes, cursing herself, and the wolf's jaws were at her throat, her hot damp breath clinging to Priss' neck fur. To her mind's horror and dismay, the instinct to bare her throat to this woman was overwhelming, and a shameful warmth spread through her as she did so. _The fuck?! No!_ What was she doing to her?

Rage rose in her again, warring with her sudden interest. This crazy bitch couldn't have her. She would rend her limb from pure-white limb. As soon as she overcame the urge to lick her face, at least.

\--No. She wouldn't. She couldn't. Whining in frustration and anger, she struggled to get control of herself. The woman thought she'd won. It would be so easy to fake submission, then rip her throat out. So easy.

Her muscles wouldn't move.

 _C'mon, Priss, this isn't like you!_ she screamed at herself. _Snap the fuck out of it! Just bite her!_

Her blood was hammering in her ears, and she felt sick to her guts. She was paralyzed. She couldn't do it.

Finally she let her head fall to the side, averting her eyes. "--I can't move," she pleaded, chest rising and falling in great whuffing breaths. "I won't"-- she hated the way she sounded, pathetic, weak, small --"I won't fight back, okay? Whatever you're doing to me, just, please, stop..."

To her astonishment, the wolf backed off. Shakily she rose to her feet and slunk away, curling up in a corner and burying her face in her paws.

She felt like someone had torn her heart out and stamped on it. She couldn't stop breathing hard. She wanted to cry, not that things like her could cry, probably. And the worst part was that she didn't even understand why.

Something touched her thigh, a sharp sting, and she flinched but otherwise held motionless. If she didn't move, maybe it would go away. Pain bloomed from the site of the sting, and for the second time that night, she felt her consciousness slipping out from under her.

For the first time that night, she welcomed it.


	2. Worth The Wait

She dreamed she was riding, gunning her Yamaha R16 down the highway at suicidal speed. The city peeled away from her layer by glittering layer, until it was just her and the road, the roar in her ears, the silence. Nothing could catch her now.

A heaviness began to grip her. She was melting, losing control of her arms, and when she tried to pull them away she was horrified to find they'd fused to the bike. She was becoming the bike, bleeding into it, her arms replacing the front forks, her body sinking low until she was on all fours; then she was running, running, paws pounding the asphalt at two hundred kilometers per hour, friction scalding them, every step cracking the hot, dry flesh. Bloody yellow pawprints marked the road as she ran, unsure what she was running from; only that it had hard, dark eyes and was bigger than her, and that it was getting closer, closer.

***

She woke with a jerk as something touched her shoulder. She looked up to see those same eyes staring down at her, and she screamed a battle cry and shoved the woman as hard as she could, scrambling away.

"Easy, Priscilla." Strong arms hauled her upright, though she struggled. At least she _could_ struggle now. "I'm not going to hurt you. Settle down."

Reassured that at least she had the capacity to fight back, she reluctantly let the woman walk her to an armchair and guide her down into it. As soon as she was seated, her head snapped upwards, staring the woman down.

"The fuck was that?" she yelled. "You fucking-- you-- you turned me into an _animal!_ " She held her trembling hands out in front of her, staring at them, the relief that flooded her at seeing _hands_ again overwhelmed by the desire to wrap them around this woman's neck. "You drug me, you bring me here, I wake up as a fucking _dog_ \--"

"--Wolf," the woman corrected her.

"What?"

"Wolf, not dog. _Canis lupus._ Although your transformation appeared to manifest as the _Canis rufus_ species, which is--"

"--Shut the fuck up!" Priss slammed her fists against the chair. "Wolf, dog, what _ever_ , I wake up as some animal, then you pin me to the ground and I-- I can't move and-- I thought you were gonna fucking kill me, or rape me or some shit, while I just lie there not able to do anything about it! And you call that not hurting me?"

Her breathing was getting heavy again. Just the thought of defying the other woman had felt so wrong, and that was scaring the crap out of her. Whatever this woman wanted, she could do to her, and she wouldn't be able to stop it.

"--Priscilla, please--"

"It's Priss," she snapped back.

"--Priss. Listen. That wasn't supposed to happen." She held up her hands in an appeasing gesture. "I swear I've never seen that effect before. I had no control over it. Your body reacted that way all on its own." She met Priss' eyes with earnest. "I swear it."

Priss rubbed her temples. "Okay. Fine. But you still-- you could have told me about the dog thing, you fucking freak!"

The woman paced before her. "If Genom understood the full implications of the technology they stole, it would be weaponized immediately. They'd become unstoppable. As it is, striking with these powers covertly, and soon, is our only chance at weakening them." She paused to look at Priss. "I'm truly sorry. I didn't-- I couldn't have imagined you'd react so poorly."

Was this woman really that clueless? "How the hell did you expect me to react?"

The woman's eyes held genuine confusion. "I was given this gift as a child, by my father. It became evident during what for others would have been a more normal puberty. I suppose that now I think back on it, I was a little frightened at first, but... I have found so much beauty in it." She touched her knuckles to her lip. It was the first flash of weakness Priss had seen in her, though it was gone again within a moment. "With your wild heart, your love of freedom and the open road... I thought you might, too."

The woman seemed genuine, at least. Genuinely fucked up. She wasn't even going to try and think of how she knew all this about her. "Look, whoever you are-- who _are_ you, anyway? I don't even know your name."

"Oh-- my apologies," she said. "Sylia Stingray."

Priss rolled her eyes. Great, she even had a name like a comic-book villain. "...Right. Which one of those comes first?"

"My father was Dr. Katsuhito Stingray. You may call me Sylia."

"Okay. Look, Sylia, I won't pretend I don't hate your fucking guts right now, but I don't want Genom to win either. You teach me how this works, and you swear that you will _never_ freak me out like that again, and I'll-- I'll work for you."

She couldn't believe she was saying this, but then she wasn't sure what other choice she had. She didn't know the first thing about the risks of being this wolf... Boomer... thing. Besides, knowing that she wasn't stuck this way permanently made the whole prospect seem marginally more interesting.

Sylia bowed her head. "As I honestly don't know what caused your reaction, I can't guarantee that it won't happen to you again. But I can assure you that if it does, you will be safe. I won't take advantage of it, nor will I let anyone else do so."

Priss nodded. "And if you want me to fight like that, you are personally responsible for turning me back the second we're done."

"If that's what you want," said Sylia. "Though given time, you should be able to control the transformation yourself. In fact, I'd like to make that a priority for you. The ability to shift between forms grants far more flexibility than being trapped in either one."

Huh. Well, that wasn't what she'd expected either. This woman was just full of surprises. "Can I change into anything else?"

Sylia held out her hands in apology. "As far as I've been able to determine, the form is fixed. And would seem, if you're anything to go by, to be somewhat reflective of the user. I was expecting your wolf form to resemble mine, but as I was trying to say earlier, you appear to be a distinct species of canid, native to the United States. A hybrid, actually, as some believe."

"Well, aren't you just a veritable encyclopedia." She swung her legs over the chair arm, earning a disfavorable glance from Sylia. Fortunately, as long as she was human she didn't seem to care, though she'd worried for a moment.

"So I'm a mongrel. Great." Actually, she realized, there was something to that. "My father was an American. Guess you never escape your genes."

"Did you want to?" asked Sylia.

Priss gave no response to that.

"Anyway," she continued, "though you're smaller than I expected, you're more than adequate in a fight. I imagine you'll have no trouble with the work I'll put you to."

"But what do you expect a wolf to do against Boomers? Bite them to death?"

"Actually, yes. Though you may look like a wolf, and though the genotype you're patterned after is that of a wolf, your transformation is nanomechanical. In your changed form, your bones and teeth become the same as any Boomer's, and you gain their strength and resilience. Your jaws will cut through steel cabling, your claws will rend titanium. You can run at twice a normal wolf's speed, and leap five times as high." She smiled. "It's quite satisfying, once you get used to it."

Priss wasn't sure she wanted to get used to it. And yet she had to admit some part of her thrilled to the idea. Stronger, lighter... she remembered how she'd felt when she'd fought Sylia, before all the weird stuff had kicked in. A part of her longed to move like that again, to taste blood in her mouth like that again, to bite, to tear, to maul.

Sylia must have noticed the change in her demeanor, for she smiled knowingly. "Would you like to go for a run?"

***

Her feet pounded the pavement, chasing after Sylia, whose white tail waved like a target flag.

"Come on, Priss, try to keep up!"

Panting more from excitement than exertion, she dove into the alley and, with only the slightest tensing of her limbs, launched herself effortlessly over a pile of rebar, sailing through the air towards Sylia's back.

The white wolf barked a laugh and put on speed, her long, muscular form snaking and slipping through a maze of old oil drums, so conveniently placed that Priss knew she had to have set it up just for this. She flung her weight left and right, the barrels whizzing by centimeters from her face as she jerked from side to side, trying to weave around them while keeping the pace. She felt like she was in a video game and Sylia was her goal; adrenaline flooded her as she snapped at her heels, almost catching her, almost, before she sped away again, leaping and dancing into the dark.

She rounded the corner after her, then pulled up short, confused. The main street stretched out before her, wide and open, storefronts shuttered on either side. There was no place for her to hide, yet she was gone.

A voice called from above her. "Up here, Priss!" She looked up to see Sylia running up a fire escape, headed for the rooftops.

All at once a third dimension of the city opened up to her, and her chest swelled with exhilaration. She'd blazed the length and breadth of Megatokyo on her motorbike, but never once thought to look up. She'd seen no need. Now that ignorant view fell away, and she leapt up the fire escape, laughing passionately.

The skies of Megatokyo crowned her head, the city falling away below. Sylia ran to the edge of the roof, Priss in close pursuit, almost tasting the skin of her heels as she nipped the air behind her. Triumph flooded her; she had her now. Sylia had nowhere to go.

Sylia wasn't slowing down.

Priss threw on the brakes, skidding and skittering to a halt. "Shit!" she yelped as Sylia hit the edge of the roof, still not stopping--

\--and jumped.

She gawped at the wolf carving an arc through the sky, a snow-white shooting star. Her coat twinkled in the neon, stripes of cherry-red and blue raspberry strobing over her shape, highlighting every muscle and curve.

Priss' jaws parted and she licked her lips, letting out a thirsty whine. She was so beautiful. Her tail swished eagerly, thumping against the back of her legs, and she dashed for the spot where Sylia had leapt, feeling her paws beat the ground in a war tattoo, her muscles pumping and coiling and stretching and finally launching her over the edge.

As a seasoned biker she knew the rule: _head up, eyes up, look where you want to go._ She focused on the wolf perched atop the distant roof, not letting herself think about the city below, cars streaking through the streets like brightly-coloured bullets. ready to rip her apart. She aimed for Sylia, for the white shape that grew ever sharper in her vision, her eyes saying _good, good_ and Priss feeling like she was riding on air, which technically she was until her feet hit concrete a moment later.

She'd expected the impact to hurt, but it hadn't at all. She felt just fine. Better than fine: she was glowing from the rush of it, like riding her bike but _better_ , God, she hadn't known that could be a thing.

Her legs wobbled with excitement as she walked to the edge of the roof and drew in a deep breath of city air, its numerous scents shooting straight to her brain where they were dissected and classified: takoyaki, pizza, engine oil, rotten eggs, chow mein, cheap perfume, chemical runoff, sex. She could smell the fish in the bay, the detergent on laundry, and most of all she could smell Sylia, who padded up close to her and eclipsed all else.

"Wow," she breathed, at a loss for anything else to say.

"Isn't it wonderful?" said Sylia quietly. "I'd seen the city so many times, but until I first changed I'd never truly smelled it before, nor had I heard it." She smiled as Priss' ears pricked. "Listen."

Priss did, and to her astonishment, amidst the drone of traffic and the buzz of neon lights she could pick out individual voices, passersby many storeys below. She could hear a stereo somewhere playing "Coyote Colored Darkness", one of her favourite Glay songs and one that seemed now more resonant than ever. Teenagers laughing, street food sizzling, Sylia's slight panting breaths: it all reached her, perfectly partitioned and separated out so that she experienced each one in its totality.

"It's incredible," said Priss.

Sylia looked down at her with those same eyes that had so transfixed her back at the club, dark and molten. For the first time, she could see the human in the wolf, and recognize the wolf that had lurked behind the human. In her gratitude, she crouched and nuzzled underneath Sylia's muzzle, licking the underside of her jaw.

Instantly she jerked back, horrified at her own actions and how easy it had been to forget.

"I can't do this," she blurted out, turning to run. "I'm sorry."

"Priss," Sylia called after her. "Priss, come back."

Priss wasn't about to come back, not of her own accord. But her legs weren't giving her a choice. Against her wishes, she felt herself circle and slink back to Sylia, tail held low. Sylia stared at her.

"I wasn't actually expecting you to listen," she said in puzzlement.

"Do I look like I can help it?!" Priss snarled, averting her gaze from Sylia's. "You said you'd stop doing this to me!"

"I told you I don't know what causes it, Priss," said Sylia with just a hint of impatience. She let out a whuff of air, then turned away. "Hold on."

Priss couldn't help but sneak a peek as Sylia reversed her transformation. There wasn't much to see: it was hard to gauge the exact moment when fur became clothing, or to wrap her mind around how it happened, though there was something erotic about it all the same. Perhaps it was the way Sylia's human form was still down on all fours, before she pushed herself up and recomposed herself into a more seemly stance.

The scents in the air rearranged themselves, blurring into one indistinct palette, and Priss found herself being rearranged too. Her hearing began to weaken and she actually fought the change, fought to hold onto the richness of sound that was quickly slipping away from her, but there was no stopping what had begun. The human range that was left sounded flat and dull, though she immediately found she couldn't pinpoint what about it was missing, or recall any of what she'd heard.

Her motorcycle leathers reformed around her, shielding her from the wind that had ruffled her fur a few moments ago. She felt both normal and numb, like she'd come down off a high. But maybe numb was good. Maybe numb was just what she needed right now.

Sylia turned back to her. "Does that help?"

Priss got to her feet, brushing dirt from her leathers. "...Yeah. I think it's just when I'm a wolf that I'm affected."

Sylia nodded. "Are you all right?"

Part of her wanted to tell Sylia about all of it: how she'd tried to hold on in that last moment, how she was in love with some parts of the change and terrified of others, how she wanted this but hated what it was doing to her and what should she _do?_

But the bigger part of her had already clamped down, putting up walls between herself and the other woman, afraid to start wanting her again.

"I'll be fine," she said. "But I could kinda use being alone right now to figure this stuff out. Sorry." It wasn't like her, that _Sorry._ , but it felt right. Sylia hadn't been trying to freak her out, even if it did keep happening.

She turned to look for a way back down the building-- she might have wanted to stay a wolf for this after all, she thought-- before shooting a quick glance back at Sylia. "You really did show me a wonderful world."

The tiniest smile reached Sylia's eyes. "I'm glad," she said. "Oh. Before you go: one thing."

She slipped a hand into her jacket pocket and tossed Priss a pager. "If you're going to be on the team, you'll need this. I'll send you a message if I need you."

Priss nodded, and was about to put it away when Sylia motioned for her to turn it over. There was a small piece of paper stuck to the back.

"That's the elevator code for my penthouse. If I call you, or if you're in need of me in any way-- if there's anything I can do-- I'll be there." There was sincerity in her eyes, and a little sadness. "I know I've placed a great burden on you. Allow me to at least support you through it if I can."

Priss felt like she should say something, reassure her that it hadn't been all bad, but she was still figuring out whether it had or not. "I'll be there," she said instead, tucking the pager into her jacket.

She was really about to leave that time, but a thought stopped her. "By the way, what are we called?"

"Hm? Called?"

She shrugged. "You said we're a team. Need a cool name, don't we?"

Sylia smiled softly. "I'll let you think of one, if you like."

"Radical." Priss finally turned to go. "Catch ya later."

She descended via another fire escape, finding herself in one of the many mazy alleyways that made up most of Megatokyo. The night was cool, unusually so, and the smell of crepes wafted from a nearby shop's vent. She was so hungry. How long had it been since she'd eaten, anyway? Hours? Days? How long had she been passed out those times?

She wound her way around to the front of the crepe shop and stood in line, joining the restless throngs of a city that, if it slept at all, preferred to catnap. The scent from the shop was so sweet, and she was sure it was stronger than usual though she was human now; somewhere she thought she smelt honeysuckle, or maybe someone's perfume. She was definitely noticing these things more, at any rate. That was no bad thing.

The crowd in front of her chattered away, girls teasing their boyfriends, children tugging on their parents' sleeves, groups of teenagers laughing and jostling, and she suddenly noticed how alienated she felt from it all. She'd never felt like she fit in; even as a child she'd mostly kept to herself, only interacting with other kids to say something disparaging then walk away. The orphanage had been hell for a kid like her, who just wanted to put in headphones and zone out with her music, something she'd been expressly forbidden there. She remembered with half-fondness so many midnight runs down to the office to steal back her Walkman, always stashed in the same desk drawer, and take it back to her bunk for one blissful night of isolation in sound.

But the isolation she felt right now was a different thing. Though she tried to think "human", jangling the change in her pocket, listening to the words of conversations, telling herself _I am here, conducting a business transaction, as a modern, civilized being,_ she couldn't make it click. These people weren't quite like her any more; they hadn't seen what she'd seen, known what she'd known. Her mind kept drifting back to how she'd felt as a wolf: slicing through the night like a steel blade, invincible, piercing the muggy closeness of the city to find a canopy of sky above her head.

A blade in the night. That gave her an idea. She pulled a gas receipt from her pocket and, leaning against the wall of the shop, scrawled on it two words in katakana:

 _ナイトセイバーズ。_ _Night Sabers._


	3. Insmileoutblood

Priss woke to the beeping of her new pager. Tugging off the sheets that invariably got tangled around her limbs, forests of paper filled with half-finished lyrics fluttering to all corners of the room, she groped through the covers for the damnable device, instead wincing as her guitar hit the floor with a tuneless clang of chords.

MEETING AS INSTRUCTED, read the tiny screen. PLEASE COME.

That woman, she thought, grabbing a shirt from the worn-once-possibly-clean pile. She couldn't have used a few of those characters to tell her if it was urgent? Of course she probably figured if she did that Priss would just blow off all the routine meetings, an assessment that was totally correct. She'd been caught out.

She sniffed under the shirt's armpit. _Ugh. Smells like dog._ She balled it up and tossed it into her laundry pile, then stripped off the rest of her things and jumped into the shower. If she was rank to herself, she didn't want to know how she smelled to anyone else right now.

As the tepid water hit her cramped shoulder muscles, she traced the washcloth over her abdomen, watching the water catch in the ridges of her scars. She'd been scared she'd end up growing fur on her chest or something, but for right now at least she looked like her ordinary self. Still, she knew that just under the skin lay an army of nanobots, ready to jump into action at whatever it was that provoked the change.

In the few days that had passed she'd experimented with shifting on her own, without success. Watching Sylia change seemed to bring it on, but she still didn't know how to trigger it. The closest she'd gotten was one time backstage when she'd almost come to blows with her drummer over some difference of opinion, and the hair on her arms had prickled and his face had gone a horrid shade of greenish grey, and she swallowed the urge back down like a lump caught in her throat. She'd managed to convince him that the batch of glaze they'd smoked up that night was just seriously wack, and he hadn't spoken about it since. She had no idea what he'd seen. But it seemed that anger could maybe kickstart the process, if Sylia wasn't around.

Sylia. Everything came back to Sylia. The reason she had to think about any of this, the reason the washcloth was hanging from the shower rail and, without noticing, she'd begun to run her fingers over her stomach instead. It was Sylia's fault they crept lower, Sylia's voice in her head as she leaned heavy on the wall, Sylia pressing her into the wall with her paws on her shoulders, pushing her down, down--

 _No, God, no._ The rush of nausea drove her from the shower to the toilet, but her train of thought had long since left the station and she wound up shuddering violently, choking back sobs as she crouched before the porcelain god, not knowing if the spots behind her eyes were from her climax or the need to throw up.

Both eventually passed, and she got shakily to her feet, a sheen of cold sweat clinging to her freshly showered skin. She stared into the mirror, raking her fingers through hair that still had shampoo in it, trying to tune out the insistent bleep of the pager going off once more.

"Well, this is turning out to be one fucking beautiful morning," she said to her reflection.

***

By the time she pulled up outside the Lady's 633 building she loathed herself a little less, though she still looked bedraggled as all hell. She had one last try at adjusting her hair in her bike's side mirror before deciding "screw it" and leaving it as it was, hooking her helmet over her arm and striding into the lobby.

 _Can't believe she owns all this._ She glanced at the list of business names posted on the wall, none of which were listed as being higher than the tenth floor, though she knew the tower was much taller than that. She got in the elevator and punched in the code she'd been given, leaning against the railing for the long ride to the top.

The elevator dinged, and she stepped out into the penthouse, which seemed to have no one in it.

"Yo, _boss_ ," she called sarcastically, setting her helmet down on the coffee table. "I am so not in the fucking mood, so if this is one of your bullshit games--"

A great furry head popped up from behind the couch. "Oh, Priss. You're late." The white wolf furrowed her brow. "You look like--"

"I know already, so can it." She scowled. "What's with the wolf getup? Thought we were having a meeting."

Sylia disappeared back behind the couch and gently nudged a second animal out in front of her. It was a black wolf, legs long and limber, its build trim yet with a hint of muscular toning. If an animal could be said to look like an athlete, this one could take gold for Japan.

"I'm Linna Yamazaki," the wolf said in a female voice, play-bowing before her. "Pleased to meet you."

"Yeah, likewise," said Priss, but the animal had already disappeared behind her. "I'm-- uh. Could you. Not sniff me there. Or anywhere. Thanks."

Linna let out a nervous laugh and pawed at her face, which Priss supposed was the wolf equivalent of scratching the back of her neck. "Oh my god I am so sorry, I-- what was your name again?"

"Priss," she said, taking a step back from the wolf-who-was-no-doubt-a-woman. "Asagiri, Priss." She shot a Look at Sylia.

"She's quite taken with her new form," said Sylia, practically beaming. If she'd been less of a stuck-up bitch Priss was sure she'd be wagging her tail. "Though she may have gotten a little too deep into the headspace, for a first meeting."

"You don't say," said Priss dryly, keeping one eye on the darker wolf. If she was honest, she was starting to feel a little headspacey herself. Something about this girl was getting to her, and it wasn't just the social faux pas. 

The _ding_ of the elevator jolted her alert, and she lifted her head to see a boy in his teens with the same blue-tinged hair as Sylia, his eyes wide with urgency.

"Sis!" he yelled, and Sylia's ears swiveled. "We've got a 10-10 in sector 14. It's a big one."

Priss looked to Sylia, standing up. "Ten-ten?"

Sylia was already making for the elevator. "Boomer rampage." She glanced back at the two of them. "If you think you're ready for it, I could use you two out there."

If there was one thing that could make Priss forget her troubles, it was a good fight. She shook off her melancholy and dashed after Sylia and Linna. "Let's get 'em."

***

The operations floor smelt of sports drinks, adolescent male human and computers, the latter of which she'd never thought of as having a smell until now. It was a faintly metallic, ozone-tinged thing, with just a hint of burnt plastic. She'd make an excellent wine taster these days, at least if she could find a bar that allowed pets.

"Priss, Linna, this is my brother Mackie," said Sylia, padding over to the boy. "He'll be tracking our status and movements through these commbraces here."

Priss stared as Mackie placed a metal ring around her neck, plated in silver and blue, and she realized that "commbrace" was just a fancy word for "collar". In her rational mind she knew some kind of monitoring and communication was a good idea, but that didn't change how she felt about seeing her leader calmly lift her head to be collared by this kid, nor how she felt about the fact that she was next.

Mackie stepped up with a blue and pink commbrace in hand, and she flattened her ears and growled.

"No time, Priss," Sylia barked. "Just let him do it."

Priss hoped it wasn't too obvious how Sylia's order had caused her to yield, her muscles losing all their tension and Mackie slipping the collar over her head before she was even aware of it.

"These are pretty stylish," said Linna as Mackie adjusted hers, which was green and burnt orange and not in any way what Priss would have called "stylish", except that her black fur actually did make the colours pop. "I'm guessing they'll let us talk to one another in combat, right?"

"That's right," said Sylia. "When Mackie flips the switch, everything you say will be transmitted, so try and keep chatter to a minimum."

"What's the target like?" Priss asked.

Mackie turned from his computer. "I haven't been able to get a reading on it yet, but it's a construction-type. I just intercepted a call to the ADP saying it went haywire on a construction site down in Ota." Priss' ears pricked alert. "Two women reported injured so far, no fatalities. But it's a matter of time."

"Shit." Ota was her ward. Those people were her people. And the way the ADP worked she knew they'd take their sweet time getting down there. As much as they might claim to be serving the people, she knew first priority went to those with deep pockets. "We gotta hustle."

"Affirmative," said Sylia. "I haven't had time to brief either of you on the weapons systems yet, so we'll go over it on the way."

A steel door rolled open to reveal a rather ordinary red truck, the logo of the Silky Doll, Sylia's lingerie-store front business, painted on the side. Mackie was already headed for the driver's cab, the side doors opening for Sylia to jump in. Priss and Linna followed suit, leaping aboard the truck just as Mackie gunned it out of the garage and, with the delight only a boy with an extremely expensive toy could possess, whooped a battle cry.

"How old is he, anyway?" asked Linna in a stage whisper. 

Sylia shrugged. "Old enough. To know better, that is." 

Priss surveyed the inside of the truck. "So tell us about these weapons." It looked innocuous enough on the outside, but on the inside it was a veritable Batcave. All manner of cables, gizmos and ominously blinking boxes covered the walls, most of it things she couldn't even begin to guess the use of. Some of it was clearly first aid-related, like the drips and monitors by the cot; she'd been in and out of hospitals enough times in her life to know what that stuff looked like. And then there were things she understood: racks upon racks of things that, while not exactly like any she'd seen before, were clearly guns of some sort. Her eyes gleamed with delight.

"How do we even use these things?" asked Linna, looking up at the assortment of artillery. "I mean, none of us have hands."

"Some of them we'll need to be human to fire," said Sylia. "We're more vulnerable that way, but if it's needed we'll pull back to here and use the truck as cover. It's been bulletproofed and fireproofed, among other things."

She nodded to Mackie. "Some of it he can operate. I suppose he's our our unofficial wingman, of a sort."

"Hey, what do you mean, 'unofficial'? Remember who's driving!"

Sylia laughed goodnaturedly. "Of course, of course. Anyway, that brings us to these last few items."

By one of the racks were three glowing pads inset into the floor: white, blue and green. Sylia walked over to the white one and stepped on it. "They're color-coded like your commbraces. Stand on your pad, face the wall and hold still."

The two did as they were told, and a mechanism descended and lowered large metallic harnesses onto each of them, breastplates locking into place around their chests. The overall effect was rather like being placed in an armored rollercoaster restraint. Yet when the pads stopped glowing and Sylia gestured for them to step off, Priss found the contraption was surprisingly light, and didn't restrict her movement at all.

"The weapons systems respond to simple mental impulses," Sylia explained. "You each have two pulse cannons on your shoulders. Think about firing them, and they'll fire. Not at me," she added, stepping aside swiftly. "Linna, you'll also find two electrical whips, one on each side of your armor. Priss, there's a case of needles on your back rigged with charges. Fire it if a Boomer tries to drop on you from above." Priss nodded, pleased by this addition.

"All right, we're almost there. When Mackie opens the hatch, keep your senses sharp and be prepared. And don't forget to communicate."

The truck rolled to a stop, and the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. Linna and Sylia hit the ground immediately, Priss hot on their heels, scanning the skies. In the distance, she could smell burning. Her ears twitched. A woman's scream.

"Someone's over here!" she yelled, immediately breaking into a run.

 _-Stay together!-_ Sylia's voice crackled through the commbrace. _-Don't just charge in! Assess the situation!-_

But whatever hold Sylia had over her in person, it didn't work over the comm, to Priss' immeasurable relief. She sped off, partly towards the source of the sound, partly away from the invisible coils that Sylia had wound around her limbs.

It was the first time she'd truly moved in this body without her there, and it felt incredible. All her senses were awakened, her reflexes trigger-fast, ducking under low beams and laundry lines as she scrambled through the alleyways of Ota.

There was another cry, and she looked up, blanching at the sight. A massive Boomer was scaling a tenement block storey by storey, using the blown-out windows as footholds. When it got to an unbroken one it simply punched its way through it, immune to the shards that fell tinkling to the ground. She couldn't see or smell the woman, but she knew the Boomer had her scent. She had to act fast.

She dashed into the building, picking her way up the flights of stairs, stopping to inhale at every landing.

"Anyone in there?" she called, her voice bouncing off the chipboard walls. "I've come to help!"

From the next floor up, a well-built American man, half-shaven and wrapped in a towel, poked his head over the railing. "Jesus!" he yelled when he saw Priss, and vanished with the slam of a door.

She groaned inwardly. Just great. Of course these people were going to fear her: a talking wolf kitted out in battle armor. Perhaps if she slung a barrel of brandy around her neck she'd be more approachable. She was about to yell out that she wasn't a Boomer, not that it would make any difference, when the reality hit her.

Actually, she was.

The commbrace crackled. _-Priss, report! What's happening?-_

"Don't worry, I got it!" she yelled back. Another crash came from the windows up above. "Dammit! I'm losing him!"

 _-That's not what report means!-_ came Sylia's voice.

She ground her teeth and leapt up the stairwell, seeking out the woman's scent. The man she could come back for: the Boomer clearly wasn't after him.

 _Isn't there any kind of heat scanner in this thing?_ she thought irritably. To her startlement, a metal band clamped around her forehead, projecting a translucent HUD over her vision.

"Would have been nice to know that earlier," she muttered, angling her head to scan through the walls as she ran.

She soon found she didn't need it. A few floors from the top, the stench of fear and urine was overwhelming. Every nerve in her body sparked-- _these are my people!_ \-- and with a few pulses from her back cannons she splintered the door, hoping the shots wouldn't penetrate and hit the woman inside.

She stepped in just as the Boomer reached her floor, its hand clamping the window frame and almost tearing it off. The woman was transfixed by it, rigid with panic, her fingernails dripping blood through clenched fists.

 _No point in trying to get her attention,_ Priss thought. _She'll just spook anyway._ Instead, on the reasonable assumption that she wouldn't move, she fired a warning round at the Boomer's fingers.

"Hey, lugnuts!" she called. "Over here!"

The Boomer raised its head above the windowsill, eyes glowing yellow in a face that was a blocky pastiche of human, like a Picasso carved in steel. _Ugly sonofabitch._ It fixed its sensors on her, then began to climb through the window, ripping out chunks of the wall to make room.

"Not so fast!" She charged towards it, cannons blazing. Now that it was off-balance, if she could hit it just right...

The cannons only pockmarked it, but then she only needed them as a distraction. Her real weapon was her skull, which she slammed into the Boomer's throat, sending them both flying back through the window to the street below.

They hit the ground with a crunch, rolling over and over. Priss grabbed the Boomer by the throat, yellow fluid gushing into her mouth as its cables ruptured. The taste and smell of the Boomer's blood flipped a switch in her brain, and she tore into it with savage glee, the rich scent filling her mouth and nostrils and making her salivate. She braced her paws against the Boomer's chest and ripped out its trachea, more hot blood spurting across her muzzle; she dug into the cavity she'd left, tearing open the carcass, consumed by the feast.

Something crackled in her ears, but she wasn't listening; or rather, she wasn't hearing. Words came through, but her brain skimmed over them, their meanings lost to her state of mind. A bright flash behind her did get her attention, and she whirled, jaws bared and bloody--

"Stand down!" The indistinct impression of _targets_ resolved into her two teammates, with Sylia at the head. Her presence had broken the trance enough for her to think clearly again, and she remained still, resisting the urge to lick the blood from her lips.

Sylia looked over at the carcass. "Good work, both of you," she said. "Terrible _team_ work, but good work. Next time, please stay together."

"Yes'm," said Linna. Priss bowed her head, then noticed something spattering on the ground before Linna. She chanced a look up, and saw Linna's right foreleg was soaked in yellow. Her eyes widened.

"Shit, you're bleeding!"

"Huh?" Linna looked down at herself, then let out a nervous laugh. "Oh-- it's not mine." Priss looked over and saw Sylia's chest and forelimbs were coated as well.

"When Boomers go rogue it tends to trigger a chain reaction," said Sylia. "Always expect more. That's why I need you both to stay on my back, because if you're not with me, I can't have yours, either." She said _both_ , but she was looking at Priss, who felt herself practically sink into the ground. "We're not lone mercenaries. We're a team. Remember that."

Priss' ears were pinned to her head like butterflies on a board. "Okay, okay! I'll stay with you! Just quit yellin' at me already!"

"I'm not yelling at you," said Sylia evenly. "I'm explaining to you." But she clearly realized Priss was overwhelmed, and softened her tone. "Come on. Everyone back to the truck."

Linna spoke up. "Wait, what about the casualties?"

Somehow, Linna speaking made Priss feel free to speak too. "Yeah, there was a woman back in that building we crashed out of." Lifting her head, she described an arc with her eyes up to the window. "She was pretty shaken up. Even if she's not hurt, she could use medical treatment."

"Not our job," said Sylia, shaking her head. Priss felt a retort try to climb its way up her throat, but it was trapped somewhere below her larynx. "We take out the threat, we leave."

Linna looked at her. "I know it sounds cold," she continued. "But the fact is, we're Boomers right now, and no one's going to let a pack of wolves with weapons herd them into the back of a truck."

"We could change back?" offered Linna.

"Too risky. There's always the chance of more Boomers in the area. No, we've done what we can." She started back towards the truck, the other two falling into line. "The ADP will take care of the rest."

Privately, Priss knew the ADP wouldn't take care of anything. It was clear that for Sylia this was less about protecting the people and more about showing power to Genom. Rationally she'd known that was the case, but somewhere in her heart of hearts, she'd liked to hope.

Still, Sylia was right: what they'd done here was better than nothing. And she'd gotten a pretty good workout out of it.

She raced off after the others, wondering just how much of her believed Sylia was right, and for what reason.

***

"You were really something out there," said Linna, over plates and baskets piled high with American-style fast food. Sylia had insisted, saying they needed the calories even if the food wasn't exactly to her taste, though they'd noticed she'd ducked into a nearby boba tea bar and hadn't returned yet. "I'm sorry I got us off to such a bad start."

"Don't worry about it," said Priss, shoving a handful of French fries into her face. She wasn't sure what it was that had bothered her about Linna, but it seemed to have faded now. She'd probably just been cranky. "I've done some pretty weird shit under the influence myself."

"Yeah, like... you were acting really weird around Sylia back there." Priss swallowed her fries in a lump. "Honestly, I thought you'd gone into shock, you looked so out of it."

Had she really looked that bad? She sipped from her milkshake, trying to seem nonchalant. "You don't seem affected, though. That's weird."

Linna frowned, stabbing her fork into a pickle that had escaped from her burger. "Actually, I guess now you mention it, there's something, kinda. I guess I figured she's just charismatic, you know? But you really go in for it." She chuckled a little, then stopped when she saw Priss' face. "Sorry. Didn't mean to imply anything."

"'S fine." Priss shrugged. In truth she was kind of glad to have that information about Linna, at least in the sense that it might help her put together just what was going on. But she really needed to get off this topic. For one thing, she wasn't sure how much Linna could still tell about her emotional state by scent.

She pulled the gas receipt from her pocket and slid it across to Linna. "So whaddaya think?"

Linna studied the paper. "Wow, your motorcycle must get great gas mileage. Wish my car did."

Priss rolled her eyes. "Other side, numbnuts."

"Oh." She flipped it over. " _Na-i-to Se-i-ba-zu._ " She looked up at Priss. "What's it mean?"

"Thought it'd make a good name for our little outfit. You know, like sabers." She made a little whoosh-whoosh motion with her fork. "I remember back when my parents were alive, we went to this natural history museum out in Saitama. They had these sabertooth tiger skeletons... their teeth were like swords. They were the largest and most powerful cats on Earth. When I felt my teeth tear through that Boomer's windpipe... I thought I knew what that must have been like."

"Hey, I'm trying to eat here," Linna jibed, making a show of setting down her cutlery. "And-- I'm sorry to hear about your parents. You, too, huh... I guess the Quake took a lot from everyone."

Priss filed that bit of information away as well. So Linna was also an orphan. She was right, it was common enough, but she couldn't help but wonder if Sylia was picking them specifically. "Yeah... sorry about yours, too. You grow up in an orphanage?"

"No, thankfully I was old enough to move out on my own by then. I just threw myself into my passions, I guess you could say."

"Hm?" Sylia's voice came from behind them. "Did I miss anything?"

"Oh, we were just talking about a name for the band-- uh, the team," said Priss, as Linna giggled.

"It does sound like a name for a band," Linna put in. "I do like it, though."

"Guess the musician in me never dies," said Priss.

"Oh, you're a performer?" said Linna, eyes lighting up.

Priss grinned. This girl really wasn't so bad after all. "Yeah, I'm lead singer for the Replicants. We play Tuesday nights at Hot Legs down in Ota. I can totally score you tickets if you like."

Sylia leaned in closer, the sheer intensity of her presence making Priss set her fork down halfway to her mouth. Apparently there was still some leftover wolf blood running through her. "So what's the name?"

Linna handed her the scrap of paper.

"'Knight Sabers'," she read, a small smile twitching at her lips. "Priss, this is your idea?"

"Uh. Yeah."

Sylia considered it for a moment. "Intrigue and chivalry... it has something of the European about it, don't you think? I'm impressed, Priss." She nodded. "All right. Henceforth, our name will be the Knight Sabers."

Priss didn't have the first idea what chivalry had to do with it, but she wasn't about to say that. She just let herself be pleased that she'd managed to do something Sylia approved of.

The train of thought made her wince. _...The hell is happening to me?_ Sylia was going to have to help her figure this out, and fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least none of them went with "Knight Savers".


	4. Avada Kedavra

Priss sat on one of the elegant couches in Sylia's penthouse, knees drawn to her chin as she stared out at the Megatokyo skyline, willing herself to go numb. Every time she recalled how she'd acted back there, how she kept acting, humiliation flooded her again, and she wanted to sink into the ground and never come back. She was tired of feeling it.

"So what does it feel like?" Sylia asked her gently. "When that happens to you."

Priss winced. She really didn't want to talk about it. But she'd come here so they could figure out how to fix this, and she knew they never would if she didn't tell Sylia what was happening.

She couldn't look at Sylia, and her voice seemed to come from very far away. "It's like... ugh, I don't know how to say it. It's like I just go limp or something."

"You mentioned not being able to move."

"Yeah. But it's emotional. It's like I wanna... submit to you or something." She mumbled those last words, feeling her face start to burn up.

She wasn't looking, but she could tell from the scent that Sylia was blushing, too. "Ah," she said, quietly. "How so?"

Priss flicked a piece of fuzz off the couch arm. "Like-- like if you tell me to do something I have this urge to do it. And I can't go against you without feeling all twisted up inside, like I'm doing something really wrong. I just feel like I'm lower than dirt, and all I wanna do is make you happy." She choked out a laugh. "You know, like those guys who wear dog collars and let themselves get jerked around on a leash, except I'm actually a dog. Hilarious, ain't it?"

If Sylia found it funny, she let none of it show. That was fine. Priss really didn't find it funny either.

"So that's why you're so distressed by it," she said. "When you're in this state, I can talk you into doing things you'd never do when you're in your right mind." She blew out a breath. "Completely submissive. Of course, that's a natural behavior in wolves-- in many animals."

"I'm not an animal," Priss snapped defensively, knowing it wasn't true. Wolf or human, they were all beasts deep down.

"Even before this happened, you were an animal," said Sylia, echoing her thoughts. "A human one. And you still are. But now you're also being influenced by another genotype."

She sighed irritably. "So what's it mean when animals-- I mean wolves do it?" She wished she'd paid more attention to things like this before now.

"A response to conflict," said Sylia. "Well-- you won't like hearing this. But the weaker animal, or perhaps I should say the one who perceives the other as stronger, shows deference in order to end the fight. It's nature's way of ensuring they don't needlessly kill each other." She paused. "Perhaps a shame that it no longer exists in most humans."

"Yeah, well, I prefer to manage my own conflicts, thanks," said Priss. "Anyway, if that's so, then why doesn't it work for Boomers? I know most Boomers could break me in two if I wasn't so fast. Why don't I roll over and beg for them?"

Sylia mulled that over for a while. "I suspect it has to do with the fact that we share a genotype," she said eventually.

"There's that word again. Can you just speak Japanese for a moment?"

"My apologies. A species. We share a genetic heritage-- we're human, and we're also wolves. Your brain recognizes me as part of your..."

"Pack?" she finished.

"Actually, I was going to say 'social group'. The pack theory of wolf behavior is rather outdated, you know, scientifically speaking. But wolves do resolve fights using mechanics of dominance and submission, and humans, even more than wolves, are quick to form social hierarchies-- to rank others, subconsciously or otherwise." From out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sylia shrug the tiniest bit. "You perceive me as your superior."

"You are my superior."

"I meant your better."

"Oh."

They were silent for a long time, Priss continuing to stare out of the window. Neon signs throbbed through the fog, and the timing seemed to match the pulse of her heart.

"What about Linna? Why isn't it having this effect on her?"

"I don't know." Priss could hear the sincerity in Sylia's voice, but it didn't make it any better.

"I don't wanna be this vulnerable to you," said Priss, curling up more tightly.

"I know. I'll try not to trigger it, though as I am, as you said, your superior I can't avoid--"

"--But I also want it," she blurted out before she could lose her nerve. "That's the worst part. I'm scared, but I also feel like if I just stopped freaking out and let it happen, it'd... feel really good to just let go."

It took Priss a moment to realize why the hell she'd said that-- that this was actually her way of exerting some control over the situation. She knew Sylia felt something for her too-- that had been clear from the moment they kissed-- and if she could at least put that chink in her armor, make it clear that she wasn't just some thing to be desired and taken against her will, but that she could want _back_... it was a small thing, but it made her feel like she'd won her agency back.

And if she could also make Sylia blush again, that would be a bonus.

Sylia did indeed exude that bright haze of pheromones she associated with her blushing. She felt accomplished, and more than a little turned on. At this distance, Sylia had to be able to smell her as well. Her mouth went dry.

"Well, there would be some advantages to acclimating to this within a safe environment," Sylia said after a moment. "Of course, if you were to start associating the state with arousal, that could present its own complications on the battlefield..."

"It already does," said Priss flatly, trying not to show how overcome she was.

Sylia left out a soft chuckle. "...I see."

Slowly, carefully, as if trying not to frighten her, she leaned over and brushed her fingers across Priss' jawline, coaxing a shiver out of her. "Then just let me know when you're ready."

Priss put her hand to the ghost of Sylia's touch, no longer sure she'd won anything back at all. "...I think I'm ready now."

As soon as the words left her lips she felt supremely unready, and she almost backed out right then. But Sylia took her hands in her soft, slender ones and led her down to the floor, and the look in her eyes as she began to change melted away her resistance.

The scent of Sylia's changing form, the sight of fur swelling over her hips and spreading up her abdomen, made her own change start coming on. She got down on all fours and tried to take deep, slow breaths, focusing solely on the air going in and out, in and out, through a face that stretched and twisted into a muzzle, the air she breathed in growing ever richer in scent. The smell of Sylia's closeness and arousal was overpowering, and before she'd even fully changed she found herself curled up on her side, Sylia's dominance a tangible aura that prickled over her skin.

"This is hitting you hard," Sylia remarked, though she could tell from the rumble in her voice and the sharpness of her scent that she wasn't entirely unaffected herself. "Will you be all right?" When Priss didn't answer immediately, her tone got rougher. "Quickly now. Yes or no."

"...yes," Priss managed, though it came out like a whine. God, but she hated when she sounded like that, she thought for the brief moment before Sylia came too close for her to think about anything at all.

"On your back," said Sylia, and she obediently rolled over. "Good girl." Delight flooded her, and when Sylia crouched over her and lowered her head, Priss eagerly lapped at her jawline, nuzzling against her throat, hoping she was still doing well.

A sharp nip on her earlobe made her whimper and freeze. "Too close," she heard against her ear, and she knew where she'd gone wrong: her teeth had been too near Sylia's throat, too much of a threat. Sudden, all-too-human panic crept up on her as she squeezed her eyes shut and bared her own throat to Sylia, her heart hammering _no, no,_ but then Sylia was nuzzling her softly and making encouraging sounds and she couldn't stay panicked like that, not when everything was right again, when she'd done so good. Her tail thumped against the floor, a show of emotion she couldn't hold back, and Sylia let out a very human chuckle.

"You're so cute," she said approvingly. The human Priss would have bristled at being called cute, but the wolf was just happy to please, and even happier when Sylia brushed her body against hers and she felt slippery wet heat press against her own.

"Hmm, you really are ready," said Sylia, and Priss wanted to say something back but she'd lost all words, only able to let out a whine that meant something like _Please, more._ But Sylia was moving again, standing over her and saying _Not yet,_ and the way she was positioned and the heavy scent of her heat was a clear indication of what she wanted.

If Sylia's scent was intoxicating, the way she tasted as Priss nuzzled her way between her warm folds and began to lap deeply very nearly blew her mind. Sylia was whimpering now and so, so wet, and Priss could feel her twitch and throb every time she nudged a certain spot with her nose. She turned all her attention to that little nub of flesh, watching it swell and deepen in color, Sylia sinking to the ground as her legs began to give way and Priss gently nosing under her tail, following the wetness that soaked her fur back to its aching, trembling source.

As soon as her tongue found its mark again Sylia cried out, a sound that was human and animal both, shuddering around Priss as she continued to pleasure her fiercely. Eventually the waves of shaking subsided and she growled, a clear _Enough_ , and though Priss never wanted to stop she withdrew her head and waited for orders, her own heat throbbing deliciously.

"You want me to please you now," said Sylia, turning around to face her.

Priss whined a _yes_.

Sylia smirked, something she'd never have known a wolf could do if she hadn't seen it in the flesh. "I want to watch you please yourself."

She tilted her head at the unexpected command. Please herself? She supposed she could reach now, even if she didn't have hands any more. She began to try, curling in on herself, but Sylia stopped her with a paw.

"As a human."

Well. All right. She could do that, too. Only if she turned back, would she stop wanting to? She realized she wasn't getting a say in the matter, because Sylia wanted her to change and so she wanted to, too, and Sylia was changing too and they were lying on the ground as Sylia whispered _Show me,_ and even if she wasn't a wolf any more she was too caught in the residual feelings of it all to say no.

She was never sure where her clothes went when she became a wolf, but now she had to fumble open her pants, Sylia's deft fingers pushing hers aside after a moment of struggling. She slid them halfway down her legs before it kicked in that she was human and she didn't have to do this, that she could stop and it wouldn't hurt; but then a moment later she realized she wanted it anyway, and besides if she didn't get herself off right now she'd implode. Sylia leaned in and, wolflike, tugged her underwear down with her teeth, and God if that sight didn't make her so hot that the feeling of fabric pulling away from her sensitized flesh almost sent her over itself.

Her clit was already so swollen that the first touch made her cry out, so very close but not quite enough. Her fingers made little slicking sounds as she slid them over her wetness and circled them around, and the sound of Sylia's breathing soon joined them, then the sound of Sylia nearing her second peak. She chanced to look over and saw Sylia with two fingers deep in herself, her palm pressing hard and circling fast, and the sight of her drop-dead gorgeous leader lost in rapture over her was too much to take. White light split her vision and she came hard, fast, messily, every muscle in her body contracting as she collapsed to the floor, gasping Sylia's name.

The world faded in and out, and she let it happen. Distantly, she felt Sylia spoon against her back, stroking her hair and saying things that didn't quite register; she assumed they were endearments that she'd probably have found offensive if she hadn't just come, and if a part of her wasn't really starting to get off on this even when she was human.

"Crazy bitch," she muttered back, her own version of endearment.

"That's 'boss' to you," said the voice in her ear.

She shivered, but was able to fight it. She'd done good today. "'Kay, crazy boss bitch. You gonna get me to a couch or something now or do I have to lie here getting carpet imprints on my face?" 

"I do so prefer your manners as a wolf," Sylia sighed, gathering Priss up into her arms like she was made of feathers.

"Yeah, but you dig me as a human. Or you'd never have picked me."

It struck Priss then-- and she could tell it struck Sylia, too-- that that was what might make it work between them. If Sylia had wanted one, she could have found no shortage of women willing to lick her boots from the get-go. It was the fact that Priss wasn't one that made it so much sweeter when she did it anyway.

That thought pleased her: that Sylia liked her because she wasn't a pushover, not despite. To this unshakeable woman, this pillar of strength and smarts who could buy an army of whores to serve her but had chosen this wild beast, she was a challenge. Yeah, her ego liked the sound of that.

That she was beginning to think herself a beast again almost didn't register, but when it did she felt too lazy to care.

***

She woke up on the couch, stiff as hell and with the smell of freshly-brewed coffee and breakfast wafting over her. For a moment she wondered who the hell was cooking in her trailer when she remembered she didn't have a couch, and also that she'd fallen asleep on Sylia's.

Throwing an arm over her eyes to block most of the light, she risked cracking one open. "Wha' time is it?" she mumbled. Her stomach growled as she rolled over. "Any a' that for me?"

"Seven thirty," Sylia's voice replied, moving closer as it did so. A tap on the shoulder got Priss sitting upright, and Sylia pressed a bowl of miso into her hands.

"Thanks," she said. She took a sip. "'S good. Man. I'm not usually even intelligent before nine."

Sylia chuckled deeply, setting a perfect porcelain cup on the table next to her. The aroma of coffee wafted up from it. "Are you usually intelligent after nine?"

"Ha ha." She quickly polished off her soup, barely pausing for breath, then started in on the bowl of rice and fish that had mysteriously appeared before her in the meantime. "Gettin' awfully domestic, aren't we?"

"No, I just like to take care of my team." Even hearing Sylia say that much, those words _team_ and _take care of_ , made the wolf in her do backflips. She tried to quiet it down, a proposition that quickly became futile as Sylia came to sit beside her on the couch, wearing a bathrobe and a lavender slip and, oddly, holding a remote control. "Oh, speaking of. While you were asleep last night, I received an interesting status message on one of my servers."

While she'd been asleep? Didn't this woman sleep at all? "Given I know zilch about computers, don't expect me to jump out of my seat."

Sylia pushed a button on the remote, and the image of a screen appeared before her, projected onto the air. "Someone's been trying to hack in," said Sylia, as logs that Priss not only couldn't read but could never have read at that speed scrolled down the screen. "Actually, someone succeeded."

"Well, shit," said Priss with a shrug that said _I still don't get why this is relevant._ "Hope you didn't keep your bank details on there."

Sylia didn't seem to be concerned at all. In fact, she was smiling. "While my brother may not look like much, his knowledge of computer security systems is second to none... or I believed it was, until last night. The security surrounding my private servers is arguably stronger than that of either Genom or the Japanese government. For someone to break through it successfully suggests a level of genius rivaling any in Japan-- possibly even my own."

"Modesty will get you everywhere," Priss deadpanned. "Anyway, why's that a good thing? Or are you just geeking out over this?"

Sylia turned to Priss. "It's good because I may have found the fourth potential member of our team."

"What, you're gonna try and change... hire... whatever, this person?" Priss scratched at her forehead. "How do you know they aren't Genom?"

"It's not impossible," Sylia admitted. "But the IP address traces to a residential network in Kichijoji." She shrugged. "It could still be a sting, but either way, I need to check this person out. And I'd like both you and Linna with me."

***

"This is officially the strangest place I've ever showed up for a clandestine meeting," said Priss, lighting her cigarette next to a sign that bore an arrow and the words _Nekokan Cat Cafe: 15 meters!_

"Isn't that what makes it clandestine?" argued Linna.

"What would make it even moreso is not talking about it," said Sylia mildly. "Though I suppose you could say we're less likely to be assessed as a genuine threat if we keep this up."

At the sound of footsteps rounding the corner, the group stiffened. She saw Linna drop her guard at the appearance of a short, shrimpish woman who looked to be no more than eighteen, her pink hair bouncing as she approached, but neither Priss nor Sylia were taken in by appearances. If this really was the woman who'd hacked into Sylia's systems, she was nothing to trifle with; even if physically she was lacking, she could have any number of tricks up her sleeve.

"Sylia Stingray?" she inquired of the three of them.

Sylia stepped forward. "And you would be Nene Romanova."

The woman-- more of a girl-- let out a little burst of laughter. "That'd be me!" she said. "I, uh. I'm seriously sorry I compromised your network."

She glanced over at Priss, who knew quite well that she was playing the role of the heavy in this scenario, even if Sylia was more than her match. Possibly Linna as well, now that she thought of it, though she hadn't actually seen her fight. She wasn't used to being this low in the pecking order. As a member of the speed tribes she'd been notorious; as a simple street-hardened denizen of the Rift, she'd held her own long enough to survive, which in itself was a feat. She was used to respect from her peers, even fear. Seeing this Romanova woman look at her with that fear in her eyes made her feel all manner of conflicted, her human side delighting in it even as the wolf insisted it was Sylia's due.

For the millionth time she wondered if she should've said no that night. If she'd known animal politics were this complicated, she might have been tempted to do so.

Then again, she hadn't exactly said yes out loud either. Perhaps it would have made no difference. Perhaps Sylia would have claimed her anyway. She wasn't sure what to feel about that, or about any of this. It was all so mixed up in her head.

Nene, meanwhile, who was party to none of this brooding, merely regarded her with slight awe. It went away when Sylia smiled at her, her expression-- and her pheromones, Priss could tell now, a canny trick-- putting her mind at ease.

"Don't worry," said Sylia kindly. "I've no intention of hurting you. Actually, if you have a few minutes, I have a proposal for you."

***

A little later that day, Priss found herself lying on the couch once again, zoning out as Sylia and Nene talked nanotechnology at a mile a minute. 

"I've never seen anyone this excited to be turned into a freak of nature before," she said to Linna, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor since Priss had taken up all the couch space. "'Cept maybe you." She had a vague thought that she should let Linna sit down, but whatever place Linna occupied in this hierarchy, if she did at all, it wasn't enough to overcome her natural inclination to selfish, sprawled-out vegetating.

Linna looked at her curiously. "Don't you enjoy it, though?" she said. "I mean, I can tell it's been giving you some issues, but once you just let go and get with the flow of it you seem like... well, it's natural for you."

Priss knew she was talking about the Boomer she'd savaged, but her mind couldn't help going back to the previous night. And honestly, both of those things nagged at her the same way.

"That's what worries me," she confessed after a moment. "It's way too fucking easy for me to slip into that space, where I'm all wolf and no human. And it's changing me."

"But if it feels right, is it really that big a deal?" asked Linna. "We're in the 21st century. Everything's changing. What it means to be human is definitely changing. And, I dunno. I'm kinda excited to be at the forefront of that."

Priss rolled her shoulders. "Just 'cause something feels right doesn't make it right," she muttered. It was a strange sentiment coming from her own lips: Priss the antisocial nuisance, Priss the street thug, Priss the try-anything-once risk junkie who routinely rode, smoked, drank, fucked and otherwise intoxicated herself to the brink of death. Priss who only felt alive when she was half scared out of her skull.

But this was something different. Her death wish, in a way, was easy to deal with: you spun the wheel until your number came up, and to hell with all else in the meantime. The slow, inexorable erasure of her personality and its replacement with something else, if that was indeed what was happening, was a much more onerous thing to face than physical death.

Then again, maybe that wasn't what was happening. After all, if it felt so natural, maybe this wasn't so much a transformation as a fulfilment of what was already there. Of course, once they'd changed enough anyone would say that. She couldn't possibly know, and all this philosophising about it was only making her feel antsier.

"So what's in it for you, anyway?" she asked Linna, shifting the subject away from her own feelings. "You seem pretty happy with the whole turnout."

Linna stared up at the ceiling, a smile crossing her face. "Well, that's a bit of a long story. Still wanna hear it?"

"Sure." Priss shrugged. "Not like I've got anything better to do, 'cept wait until those two stop talking shop so we can watch Pinky go feral." She tilted her head towards the kitchen. "Though that said, if someone could grab me a beer first, I'd humongously appreciate it."

"Get your own beer, Priss," said Sylia from across the room.

Priss rolled her eyes and headed to the kitchen. "Fine, fine."

At least the fridge was well stocked, she thought as she pulled out a bottle. Sylia didn't seem like the type to drink beer, but she'd had a suspicion she'd find some in there anyway. That was the weird kind of rhythm they were falling into. Sylia made her breakfast, bought her favorite brand of beer. She laughed at the thought of doing the same for Sylia: cooking for her in the morning while she snoozed in her trailer bunk.

 _Yeah, that'll happen._ By unspoken consensus, they met on Sylia's turf; she couldn't even imagine inviting her back to the trailer. It wasn't a power play on either of their parts, or at least she didn't think it was. But it was just one more example of the disparity between them: a fact that, in all honesty, was starting to bother her less and less.

She pushed the thought out of her head. "Want one?" she called to Linna.

"Too early for me."

"Suit yourself." She sat back down on the couch and popped the top, motioning for Linna to sit beside her. "So spill."

Linna nodded. "Okay. So I'm a dancer... or at least I always wanted to be. My day job is actually teaching aerobics classes, but I'd been trying out to become a professional dancer... that's been my dream ever since I came to Megatokyo. To make it big, you know?"

Priss nodded. She understood that dream. To share your passion, your self-expression, with more than just a handful of drunks and crackheads squeezed into a grungy nightclub. Okay, she thought as she lifted the bottle to her lips, so she drank and smoked too, it wasn't like she judged them, but she wanted more. She wanted the people up here to hear what it was like down there, to do more than just bounce her voice off the walls of the Rift while people here went about their coiffed and manicured lives, blissfully ignorant of the suffering below.

"But... well. That didn't go as planned. I totally flunked my last audition... I thought I had it perfect this time, I really did, but I guess my perfect wasn't anywhere near good enough." She rubbed the back of her head in embarrassment. "After the audition, I was pretty much a wreck. My dreams were completely in the toilet, and all I could think was here I was, in the big city, having gambled everything on my one dream, and all I had to show for it was a crummy job and rising rent prices. That's when Sylia came up to me and offered me... well, all this."

"Clever of her," Priss mused, half to herself. "Still, it seems like there's more to this for you than just desperation."

"It was that at first," she admitted. "I really didn't have any idea what it was going to be like, giving up a whole part of my life to this animal thing. But I've always been all about seizing opportunities. 'Carpe diem', you know, as the Romans say? And I guess I was just really low, and I went with it, and then..." Her eyes began to shine.

"It was like... I can't describe it. But you know what it's like, right? Even when I was dancing, it always felt like there was something just out of my reach. Some zone I never got into. But when I changed that first time, and I started to move, it was all I'd ever wanted as a dancer. That feeling of just... lightness, and strength." She clenched her fists. "You know?"

"Yeah." Priss nodded, upending her bottle. "I know."

Sylia's voice called to them, preventing Priss from getting any deeper into her cups. "Priss, Linna. We're all ready to go over here."

"Whoop, well, here it comes, the dark ritual," said Priss under her breath, pushing up off the couch. "Someone get the sacrificial chicken."

They walked over to an open space with no furniture to obstruct them, which in truth described most of Sylia's floor space. Priss had noticed that a lot of her personal effects, like the computer screens, could fold into the walls or be displayed holographically if necessary, leaving them hidden the rest of the time.

"You might be more comfortable down on all fours," said Sylia to Nene, though it technically applied to all of them. With that much wolf pheromone in the air, they'd all be changing.

Priss sat down on the floor. "She never gave me that heads-up the first time," she said to Linna.

Linna's brow creased. "She didn't?"

"Nope. Went straight in for the kiss."

Linna laughed. "Well, that's one way to put it."

Priss stared at her. "No, she really--" Something glinted out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to see Sylia give Nene a shot in the arm with what looked like a needle gun. Her jaw hung slightly open.

"...That was _not_ what she did to me," said Priss, flabbergasted. "I'll fuckin' kill her."

Linna examined her face. "You're serious," she said. "She kissed you."

Priss rubbed her lip where, despite all the nanoshifting, there was still a scar. "Bit me, actually."

She made a face, but secretly she was more than a little pleased by the revelation. Sylia had kissed her, and only her. Okay, so apparently she was also the only one who hadn't been briefed on what it would involve, which meant all that junk about "not letting it get into the wrong hands" had been a barefaced lie. _That_ displeased her to no end, and she made a mental note to bring it up with Sylia later.

But for now at least, all that went out of her head as the girl before her began to change, her teeth bared in something between a gasp and a growl, the pink hair that bobbed around her shoulders replaced with--

\--Priss would be _so_ amused if her fur was pink too--

But it wasn't.

All three of them stared, caught between awe and confusion. Even Sylia wore naked shock on her usually carefully-schooled features, an expression of emotion unlike any she'd seen from her even in the intimate moment they'd shared. In one part of her mind, Priss couldn't believe that there was anything Sylia could fail to anticipate, but on the other, there was...

"Uh." Linna was the one to break the silence. "Forgive me for pointing out the obvious here, but..."

"Yes," said Sylia, continuing to stare. "Yes, that is a leopard."

The newly-changed Nene looked down at her paws, the long, slender legs spotted with dark rosettes, sharply contrasting with their sandy hue.

" _Cool,_ " she breathed. She turned to look at them all, her expression faltering as she saw their faces. "...This _is_ cool, right?"


End file.
